Miami

We were a bit sorry to say goodbye to Mexico - mostly because we'd just started coming to terms with the fact everyone speaks Spanish. So it was a relief to find out that 60% of Miami's residents have Spanish as their mother tongue. And it really was awesome to find ourselves back in the States - even if the rain washed down our taxi windows the whole way to our hotel in the north end of the art deco district of South Beach. It was after 8pm by the time we got there - so we grabbed a quick bite at Jerry's Famous Deli on the corner (I was overjoyed to be reunited with my long lost friend, root beer, I'm hoping it's available in Dublin) and then wandered a wee way along Lincoln Road.

Next day was still raining, so we decided to forgo the walking tour of the art deco district that I'd planned out and booked a bus and boat tour of Miami. It was touristy, but good choice - kept us out of the rain and showed us the entire city, including Little Havana, where Elian Gonzales lived for the period he stayed in the USA and where we watched cigars being hand-made Cuban styles (unfortunately the cigar factory in Havana was shut when we were there). We also jumped on a boat and saw Miami from the water - including the numerous celebrity homes that pepper Miami's islands: P Diddy, Elizabeth Taylor, Gloria and Emilio Estefan, Rosie O'Donnell - the biggest house was owned by the head of a pharmaceuticals company, and some German businessman had an air conditioned backyard. We spent the evening drifting along art deco Ocean Drive - an incredible combination of art deco glamour and neon styling. After a beautiful sea food dinner, we grabbed pina coladas at Clevelanders a massive bar, with outdoor counters lit up in neon pint electric tiles, fairy lights climbing every tree, a dance floor over a swimming pool and eighties fabulous music. The other patrons were almost as good as the decor - a bunch of local gals who came running up when they heard their (pretty obscure) favourite song and did a massive choreographed dance, as well as a pretty drunk Dad-aged guy, beautifully dressed in his Ralph Lauren polo and chinos, who started cutting some serious shapes and getting low on the dance floor.

Waking up the next day, we were relieved to see the sun had finally come to the party. So we finally did my art deco walking tour (and also saw Dash /Miami and Miami ink, for those who share my secret shame, and Gianni Versace's former home - he was killed on the steps above), and ended up sitting on South Beach watching the waves roll in. It looked so enticing that we raced home, suited up and came back for a swim. We could have spent hours just watching people on the beach, watching various tourists, the cold water spruikers getting chased away by the 'official' refreshment sellers, the over-inflated local women (For me, Miami will always mean fake eyelashes and massive boob jobs - even the mannequins in the stores have them). We were keen to be rested for the next day - our introduction to our new travelling companion - so after a last wander around our neighbourhood and a slice of pizza for dinner, we were early to bed.